life, death, love and other forms of poetry by alcoholic poet

Close to the stem she found the flesh of the fruit. Stale under its skin. Ripe between her teeth. Lengthy narratives savaging her bite. As she chews on what might've been. The hours count backward as she tries to forget. The buttons she pressed to get there.

Ambivalent matchsticks. convinced by the flame. That this darkness can be gutted. That this slaughter has bones. to build upon. and skin. which can be missed.

Finding the tunnels. Silent passages between seize and suffering. the callous bulb of time insisting. we have not moved. though i know we are far from where we began this quest.

I can name roads. Virulent with the byzantine hiss of traffic. I can draw maps. Rigid lines contradicting the flow of the earth.

I can revisit. All these places I've always been, But still I am lost.

One scavenger amongst scores of them. With its head deep inside the carrion.